A man who’s work has had such a profound effect on me is just gone? I still can’t come to terms with this.

To apply the term "exceptional" to his work is demeaning and arbitrary. His work surpassed the exceptional, went beyond the contemporary vision. He formulated bodies of work (through his multiple collections) pieces that were heard of not only tangibly but conceptually. Of course an idea is one thing, but to execute it in an objective space and then excel above the concept is a rarity in the societal era of the tedious and indolent. His execution, his designs, his artistic demeanor, his heart and soul were the epitome of brilliance, not only within fashion but within modern art. He was fearless. He challenged himself each season and when doubts as if he could surpass his previous collection(s) were raised by viewers and critics alike he shot those uncertainties in the face with a sawed off shot gun. There was no climax of McQueen's career for each new collection was it's own climax. He was this climatic entity that never ceased to amaze.

His work was one of the reasons I'm this passionate about clothes today. I feel like I lost a teacher, a friend who I could rely on to keep me inspired with every collection, and I would still maintain this inspiration for months and months until he released his next brilliant collection of clothing. The fact that I no longer have this is like someone ripped a piece from this passion and fed it to dogs.

I'm not reading this back because I'm incapable at the moment.

I'm just going to return to going through his archives and crying until my eyes are dry.

Tuesday, February 09, 2010

*This post has no relevant point or thesis to it. It's just a bunch of random closely related shit placed together.

So firstly let me acknowledge what I wore today. I left my camera back where I originally live and so I'm just resorting to Photobooth. I had a very limited choice of what to wear since all of my stuff was here, where I am now, but yeah, TEXTURES. Mad props to you.

Everything is vintage except for the striped skirt which is from H&M.

I got my nails manicured for the first time in ever at my mom's friend's nail salon and she was a bit thrown off when I asked her to omit two of them from being painted blue and to be done in white instead. I don't know why I have a sly grin on my face in the picture though, especially when all the notes in sharpie pen on my left hand are a series of errands I have to run. That involve spending money. AKA I should look genuinely upset in this picture.

This is a jacket I bought a couple of weeks ago from the Goodwill, when I saw it I immediately ran to a mirror and put it on my back and did the Blue Steel look which seemed to be an unconscious reaction. I suppose when you put on an article of clothing covered with MULTIPLE PICASSO PAINTINGS one inevitably tends to do this. In short it's a bad ass jacket and it's the best 5 bucks I've spent in a while.

This is from that book 'Radical Fashion' I was talking about previously (which I still have to finish, I just read three other books though so I'm leaving this one for the very end). It's only one of my favourite collections of EVER - Hussein Chalayan's "After Words" collection from the Autumn/Winter 2000 season. It's amazing in so so so many ways. I always admired Rei for her association with the design aspect of Comme des Garcons and how she perpetually played an integral role in coming up with the concept and execution of the architectural part of the house (i.e shop interiors, furniture, etc.) So when I first saw this collection and saw how Hussein literally integrated the two, essentially making the design his collection and his collection the design, I couldn't help but obsess over it. It also plays out like an installation (nearly all of his collections do), evoking a conceptual artistry as much as it does a series of clothing.

Here is the video also, which I do recommend. It was definitely intended to be viewed in motion rather than in stills, and it leaves much more of an impact than the images do.

I'll end this post with an excerpt of something I wrote for a creative response assignment for my literary studies class. It has to do with Baudelaire's flaneur - basically someone with a child-like demeanor and sense of astonishment as they walk through a social place buzzing with life. In this paragraph this flaneur is watching individuals, couples, groups, deep in conversation and laughter as he walks by windows during a stroll through city streets.

Continuously in the bins they go, in between blood clots and stolen names, and I forget of this ridden debate as I glare through the shimmer of invisibility at spoken words my eyes don’t hear. But how glorious these conversations seem! A gap between each seat and life is translated through a different set of lens, and yet they all find joy in conjunctions tied together through seams. Different eateries I make my way past, with the silver of each spoon more dull than another, a chair less comforting than the next. But heads still bob back with gaping mouths escaping the echoes of satire still fresh on their breaths. I feel as though I can touch their hearts as they rise and pace, and the simultaneous lives shared through laughter makes my chest peak and suddenly I am unleashing waves in giggles to nothing, in particular, in the grey of the streets.